


Blow

by twofoldAxiom



Category: Homestuck
Genre: First Time Blow Jobs, Horn Stimulation, M/M, Somnophilia, This Is The Most Vanilla Thing I've Ever Written, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 01:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7199141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofoldAxiom/pseuds/twofoldAxiom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You just can't keep your hands to yourself, but luckily for you, Karkat seems to be alright with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drikstreedur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drikstreedur/gifts).



> For my assignment:  
>  _Things can get boring on the meteor, and idle hands make trouble_
> 
> Please enjoy!  
> EDIT Feb 13 2018: Oh my god I can't believe this wasn't tagged underage all this time, thank you to the commenter who pointed it out, I'm legitimately embarrassed I left this for as long as I did.  
> If there's anything else my work needs to be tagged for, please inform me as soon as possible, I absolutely need my stuff tagged as well as I can get it.

One of the things you miss most about the Internet is the abundance of new stuff you could use to inspire you. You think about that while you try to write some decent (as they ever get) lyrics to one of your older tunes, because everything sounds rehashed to Hell and back. Your paper is so scribbled out you’re running out of space, and you’ve been at this for long enough that your neck is starting to hurt from the habitual bobbing your head does when you listen to music.

You sigh and take off your headphones, blinking tiredly. You’re not even really tired, just that pall of slowness you’ve been feeling lately from being cooped up with less and less to do every time you wake. Karkat probably has the right idea, you think, looking down at him snuggled up against you with his head in your lap; you think he’s trying to sleep off as much of the next three years as he can sometimes, except it’s probably a troll thing because when he’s awake he’s more awake than you feel like you’ve been in weeks.

The tradeoff is he sleeps like a dead thing. It’s a little disturbing sometimes, except you can clearly feel the faint warmth of his breath against your thigh, even if you can’t quite see his chest rise and fall. He also snores, but it’s a weird, chittering, buglike snore, which you think probably shouldn’t be as goddamn adorable as it is.

(Now that you mention it, you’re coming to accept that you think everything he does is adorable. You’ve managed to admit it out loud a couple (a few) times, and he was so flustered that you were sure you’d fucked up unimaginably before a week later when he would speak to you again without looking like he was about to have a stroke. The third time, he kissed you to shut you up, and you’re pretty fucking sure your brain stopped functioning entirely for the duration of the kiss.)

You sigh again and slump back against the couch. There’s nobody else in the common area right now, you have no idea where any of the girls and John  have fucked off to (probably a good thing, they’re Hell in a handbasket when they’re all together), and you can’t move because Karkat’s not going anywhere and it’s just a rule, yo, you just don’t move when you’ve got a lapful of-

Okay you’re not continuing that joke; that was terrible. But you _would_ feel a little bad for waking him up. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers through his hair, mildly surprised like always at how stiff and bristly it actually is. It’s clean right now, but the strands are wiry and thick until you get to his horns, which are weirdly covered in yellow, almost cottony fluff, sparsely near the orange base and then more thickly near the tips. He explained that once, right? Sensory hairs, like on a moth’s… head feathers.

You’re sure he told you what those were called too, but troll names for things are fucking terrible.

You rub your fingers over the outer curve of the horn, tracing the way the hairs spiral around it. He makes the tiniest noise in his sleep, a hitch in his breathing, and for a moment you think he might be waking up, but he settles back down again when you stop. He starts _purring_ when you start up again, a little more firmly, brushing down over the hairs this time, against the grain.

There’s that hitch again.

You pause.

He settles back down.

Most people, you think, would have stopped by now. But you don’t think you’ve ever heard him purr before. It’s not like a cat’s purr; it’s way too loud, fills up the air with vibration, and it doesn’t sound like a machine, not really, but it’s the most accurate measure you’ve got. Karkat purrs like a car engine crossed with some kind of large animal. You get an idea and turn on the recorder on your turntables.

This time you twist your fingers around, just a bit, like you would if you were turning a particularly sensitive knob (hah) and didn’t want to damage what you were holding. The purring gets even louder when you do this, shot through with a bizarre, crickety chirp, and it’s so fucking weird that you can’t help but reach for the mic and put it a little closer to where the sound is coming from. He still breathes normally despite the noise, it’s bizarre. You wonder if you can get a different sound out of him.

You turn off the recording, save the file, start a new one. This time you try running your fingers down the inner curve of his horn. The hairs are somewhat denser there, and he actually _mewls._ It’s low for a mewl, but it’s noticeable, and you can’t tell if it’s something he doesn’t like or something he does or neither at all because he’s fucking asleep. Again, you stop, turn off the recording, save the file, and start anew.

You’ll have to cut out most of the normal purring, but this is the most new sound you’ve gotten in a while. You wonder what you can do with it, tell yourself it’s for your art and not an excuse to play with the weirdly textured little nubs. You squeeze around the base and find it soft, and he gasps, and that’s when you stop because holy shit. Holy shit. Was that a sex noise? Have you been giving him a troll handjob in his sleep the whole time?

You only have one way of confirming. No, you’re not going to wake him up, because you’re a terrible person apparently. Instead, you give the base another experimental squeeze.

He moans. He straight up moans. It’s throaty and shuddery and you don’t know if you feel filthy or not, you’re not sure what the sudden flare of feeling in your gut is, but you don’t think it’s revulsion or guilt somehow. Horrified fascination, maybe, because now that you know what that is you think, _what can I do with this?_

You’re a fucked up guy, thinking about this.

You also want to hear him make more alien porn noise.

You give the base of his horn another squeeze, and freeze when he tenses up in his sleep, trills softly. Damn, you wish you’d gotten that on recording, but you’re not as concerned about keeping this for your own selfish reasons anymore. Sort of. Your reasons for doing this are still kind of selfish, but they’re a different kind of selfish now.

You think about the sounds he’s made thus far, think about what you haven’t tried yet (what that feeling in your gut compels you to do). He stirs just barely, curling up like a cat, but his head stays in your lap and it’s no trouble at all to keep doing what you were doing. When you squeeze again, his breath hitches around what sounds like a muffled choke, worrying you just enough to loosen your grip but apparently not enough to stop entirely. He squirms when you press a finger down against the inner curve again and flatten the soft little hairs there.

He breathes out, the end of it curling off into a needy whine that, despite everything telling you that that’s more than kind of fucked up, shoots heat straight to your dick. You freeze, not because you think he might wake up but because if you hear any other sounds like that you might wake him up with a boner in his ear, and how are you going to explain something like that; you can’t, that’s how, you would die a Just death for your trouble.

You’re so caught up in trying to breathe again for a minute or two that you practically jump when you feel his warm, rough fingers wrapping around your wrist, squeezing upwards until he’s got a pretty good hold on your hand. Is he going to snap your finger bones for fondling his horns? Did you really breach some really delicate alien etiquette thing with the horn fondling? No, doesn’t seem to be the case; he slowly brings your hand down to his horn again, wraps your fingers around the whole thing (not a difficult thing to do, really), and gives you a squeeze. He sighs.

You look down. He looks like he’s still asleep. Is it possible that he just picked your hand up while half-asleep? Or maybe he’s trying to save face. You can examine his face a bit closer like this, in the dim light of the alchemized lamps scattered around. You could swear there’s a hint of a flush on the charcoal grey of his cheeks.

“Karkat?” You murmur, quietly as you can in case he really is asleep. “Hey, Karkat, are you awake?”

No response. You would feel guiltier for going on like this, but his hand is still on yours. It feels… nice, actually. He has heavy hands, almost as callused as yours. But you have to make sure.

You stay still. Even when he squeezes your fingers again, even when he makes an annoyed-sounding little chirr in his throat. (You didn’t think chirrs could sound annoyed, but there you go.)

You breathe out and rub your eyes under your shades, and then look down at him again. His eyes are opening, just a crack, peering sleepily up at you.

“Why’d you stop?” He asks. You don’t understand for a moment, before it clicks.

“Were you awake?” You ask.

He blinks, slowly, and he’s not looking at you when he opens his eyes again but that is definitely a blush even in the darkness as he nods. You find your heart beating a little faster at the thought that he’d only been pretending to sleep while you toyed with his horns; you’re not sure how to feel about it, but then, you’d been under the assumption that you could mess with him while he was unaware, so where does that put you anyway?

You don’t think about it too hard.

Karkat almost makes a move to get up, but you squeeze around his horn as soon as he does and he gasps, eyes going wide, whispering “ _Fuck,”_

“Is that okay?” You turn your fingers again, pressing down the sensory hairs in a tight little spiral. He shudders all over, his eyes closing as he nuzzles up against your hand.

“Y-yeah. _Fuck_ , a little closer to the base, the soft bit…” He mutters until you squeeze again, and then it cuts off with a moan, and all of this is so surreal but you still feel that feverish heat rising slowly in your skin. His hand kneads your thigh like a cat, squeezing, relaxing, squeezing. “Ngh, like that...”

You scoff and twist your fingers, and when he keens you feel your heart doing a tight little twist in your chest. “You’re so weird.”

“Tell me about it.” He says, still kneading, his claws pressing just slightly into your thigh. “Except don’t, because you would say it in the most insufferable way you possibly could. You would make eyeless gods weep with the sheer convolution of your verbal gymnastics, the likes of which have never been heard befffnngh,” You drag your thumb down the inner curve, bending the hair against the grain again.

“You’re also full of hot air.” You add, and note that he isn’t even glaring at you; the face he’s making looks more on the side of a cat hopped up on nip. “But I feel like that last part was Karkatspeak for a compliment, so I’ll thank you anyway.”

“Fuck you.” He mutters, but by the time your fingers reach the base again he’s tense as a bow, his lower lip between his teeth as he tries not to make a sound. You mentally file away the picture he makes practically writhing in your lap, and try to ignore the heat probably turning your face into a reasonably good impression of a tomato. It’s getting hard to ignore with the little noises that escape him anyway, with the way your cock stiffens just that much more when he looks up at you.

Of course, then you’re pretty sure you’re going to die of a heart attack when he says, “What the fuck is this pressing into my aural flap?”

“Well,” You start, and stop because he’s getting up. It’s a miracle that your half-a-boner isn’t going down with a stare like the one he’s giving it right now, blinking slowly like he’s still buzzed from the hornrubs. You still kind of want an explanation for what the Hell that feels like, but you’d also be _really okay_ with never getting that explanation if he would just stop looking at your wilting stiffie like that. “Um.”

You can feel the silence pressing in on you.

He looks up with the haze still in his too-wide eyes and the alien reddish-grey blush still across his cheeks, and it’s your turn to make an embarrassing noise that you will deny unto your dying day. You could very well shrivel up and die when he speaks. “That’s your bulge, isn’t it?”

“Bulge.” You say, the most coherent thing you could manage before your mind catches up with you. Yeah. You can play this cool. “Right, right, weird troll dicks. I mean, we just call them dicks but they’re pretty much the same thing except they don’t wriggle all up in your business when you’re trying to give someone a handy and don’t make a billionth of the mess when we blow, so that’s convenient, yeah?” And of course you mention handjobs and orgasms immediately. Of course. Real subtle.

He stares at you. “I know what it is, Dave. It doesn’t take a genius to piece it together after watching a summary of your life and all that goes on within it for so much as a few hours on Trollian.”

Somehow your deadpan is perfect despite your mind rushing to the worst possible conclusion. “You’ve been watching me jack off through Trollian?”

“What? No!” You’re not sure if the sudden, cartoonish way his face lights up in red is confirmation or not, but it’s pretty cute the way he bristles up like a surprised cat, flailing his hands around. “No, holy fuck, I have _not-“_

“So you’ve just been watching human porn.” Now you’re just trying to mess with him, and you’ve probably killed the mood deader than gory road pancake. He makes a chattering sound in his throat that rises higher and higher in pitch until you have to bop him with one of Rose’s many embroidered throw pillows. (If you had to guess what the pattern on this one was, it’d be some sort of octopus, but it has too many legs, and you’re pretty sure an octopus shouldn’t have a mouth like that.)

He grumbles at you, sitting up now as he snatches the pillow out of your hands and maybe tries to smother you with it. _“No_ , I have _not_ been watching your disgusting human porn. I had enough unfortunate encounters with it just watching you live your night-to-night life in your shitty apartment, and I’m not about to start examining the intricacies of it _now_.” The mood is so dead that trying to exhume its remains has gone from grave robbing to palaeontology, and you’ve got shelves of dead shit in your room so you would know. Karkat doesn’t give a shit, continuing to try to press the pillow into your face.

You’re trying so hard not to laugh. You don’t know how well you’re holding up; your breathing’s gone weird and wheezy with the effort. Karkat finally lets up the pressure on the pillow, flopping back against the couch with a grunt that makes you want to punch yourself in the face for thinking of as cute.

You hate yourself just the tiniest bit for chuckling, but it’s probably worth it for the way he peers at you like an irate owl. “What?”

“Just thinking.” He glares for that, and you go on before you can stop yourself, the mumbling wordvomit that you wish you could control. “Like, about earlier, with you making all that sex noise just from getting your horns rubbed.” He blushes a little at that, but you go on over the look he gives you. “I mean, humans don’t really have any kind of analogue for that, you know? Is it a bug thing? I’m pretty sure it’s a bug thing, since the only things I know with fuzzy head protrusions are bugs, and even then that’s kind of rare back on Earth. What does that feel like? Like I’m guessing the answer is _pretty good_ , with a reaction like that, but you looked like you were inches away from-“

(“Oh my God.” He mutters, burying his face in the creepy octopus pillow.)

“-having a straight-up _orgasm_ over that, and like, is it really that good? What I was doing?” You’re blushing a little again, but you can’t stop going, you can’t stop the way your mind works back around to Karkat’s face and noises while you were giving him a weird alien handy any more than you can stop breathing. You backpedal. “You don’t have to talk about it, it’s cool.”

“I was kind of getting there, yeah.” You stop.

“What.”

“If you’d kept going, I probably would have.” He’s beet red and looking down, and damnit you’re interested in what he’s got to say now. “I don’t really know how to explain it. I know the science behind it, it’s pretty typical schoolfeed fare,” (You staunchly do _not_ think about what alien sex education is like, holy shit.) “but I don’t think there’s any way to explain it to humans. It’s a _quadrant_ thing.”

Oh.

Oh God fucking _damnit._

He’s going on about which quadrant it could be, depending on the nuance of the touch or some bullshit like that; you try to give a shit, you do, but you’re too busy hanging onto keywords to really process what he’s going on about, picking apart the way you were just touching him, the way he reacted, trying to match it up to what he’s saying.

You fail. It’s a stronger man than you that can keep up with Karkat on a quadrant spiel, even when you manage to grasp more of it than everyone here except the other trolls and maybe Rose.

“Are you even listening?” He sounds genuinely miffed at you. You’re at the point of no return. He may as well have asked you if you didn’t feel the same way.

Wow, you really have been hanging out with him a lot, if you can pick up on something like that.

You got your explanation on the horn thing at least, at the cost of possibly fucking up your standing with him for real. You breathe out and somehow manage not to stutter. “Quadrants and trust exercises, in a nutshell: horns are some kind of weird extra sense thing, you can make it hurt for pitch or muffle it up for pale or really make filthy, filthy fingerlove to those suckers for flush and I get that that’s _oversimplifying_ but you can probably forgive me for having a little panic attack over this because I didn’t really know what I was getting into with the horn thing, and honestly I feel like kind of a dirtbag for starting it while you were asleep in the first pla-“

“Dave.” His voice cuts to your core harder and harsher than a slap. “If you’re not into me like that, it can just be a thing that happened. Just… don’t do it again. I want stuff like that to _mean_ something _._ ”

You don’t have to think about your answer. “I didn’t say that.”

Silence.

The way he looks at you could cut through three feet thick of solid steel.

You fidget.

“I let you kiss me that one time.” You start, slower, more even. You watch everything he does in case he’s about to bolt, but it doesn’t matter because you’ve gotten this far into the hole and the only way left to go is to keep digging, right? “I wouldn’t be opposed to kissing you again like, well, with maybe less _screaming_ involved. I’d rather we didn’t make a public goddamn spectacle of it, but, I think this is the part where I say that I’m honestly, unironically, fully and totally into you. And mean it. In a human way. Which I guess is a lot of quadrants, and I mean if you don’t want to work out some kind of quadrant-humanfeels thing between us…”

It dies down in your throat, which is a first for you. He looks pensive, looks kind of eerie like this actually; you’ve seen him relaxed and sad and shouty and really mad and, if you can believe, well-and-truly _happy_ , but you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this. It’s a different kind of unsure that you feel settle into your bones.

Your hand trembles when he takes one in his, squeezing your fingers again. He doesn’t look up at you while he speaks. “I’ll be honest here. I have no fucking clue what quadrant we’re supposed to be in either. Sometimes I fucking despise you and sometimes I would take on several worlds for you and sometimes we get all feelings-jammy like this. But right now?”

Your heart feels like it’s going to pound itself into a gory pulp against your sternum. He leans in close enough to breathe with you, finally looks into your eyes. You can see the flecks of red starting to show in his eyes even through your shades. Whatever he was going to say is lost forever except maybe in some really unlucky timeline that has to hear it, because you tilt your head and close that distance, and he doesn’t push you away; sighs into the kiss even, the sound edged with sharp, buglike trills that rattle down your spine.

One of your hands ends up on a horn again somehow. You’re not sure how it got there, but he doesn’t seem to mind; there’s more of that noise you’d wanted to hear earlier on, and the shocking realization that your half-boner was just biding its time until he could serenade it with weird troll sex noise. _You_ moan into his mouth when he bites your lip, not hard enough to break skin but edging pretty fucking close. His tongue slides across the bite and you feel like a useless piece of shit when you fumble around his horns, trying to remember how he was coaching you earlier before noticing your cock was a bad thing.

You’re glad it’s not a bad thing right now. You’re over the goddamn moon, because one of his hands is on your shoulder and the other is slowly ( _painfully_ slowly) making its way downwards. Your breath catches in your throat for a second before leaving you in an entirely human moan when his hand squeezes around the protrusion your dick makes in your godtier jammies. It’s probably not how a handjob is supposed to go, he squeezes up and down rather than stroking smoothly, but it’s _his_ hand on you and that’s all that matters in several important bits of anatomy apparently.

Your free hand goes up to his other horn when he breaks the kiss, and you _relish_ the look on his face, the breathy sounds he makes when you squeeze the bases one at a time and then both at once. You’re too close to actually get a very good look, but what little you see makes the heat and hardness between your legs that much more pronounced, not even considering the fact that he’s still trying to jack you off through your clothes. You’d wonder if this is some kind of alien mutual masturbation, but now isn’t time; now _is_ the time to have your brain go on vacation as he kisses you breathless.

His hand is tight around your cock just enough that you still have the space to thrust up into his fingers through the fabric of your pants. It’s rough and kind of gross, you can feel fluid starting to seep into the cloth from the tip, but you don’t really care as long as he keeps sucking on your lips and squeezing in that arrhythmic way he’s doing. You want to say something, tell him how good he is, tell him he’s killing you, nonsense that would probably make him tell you to shut up.

You’re a little disappointed when he lets go, but you rethink that pretty quickly when you feel his fingers skimming the hem of your pants. Your hands curl around his horns, your palms pressing into the tips and probably grinding the hairs down when he pulls down and your cock is finally out in the open air. He trills into your mouth at the same time you moan when he closes his fingers around your dick. You’re mildly surprised to hear him breathe “holy fuck” into your mouth as he gets his fingers around it. You smile through the kiss.

“Yeah, it’s pretty big, isn’t it?” It’s not, it’s pretty average as far as cocks go, and you’ve seen enough amateur porn to have reference, but you like the ego boost you get from his silence all the same. He bites your lip again, but it’s not even as hard as last time; and you hardly notice the pain at all when he squeezes again, bare skin on skin this time. You feel like your brain is going to leak out of your ears from how good it is. It probably isn’t great, but when you’ve only had your own hands to compare, you can’t help it.

He chirrs, lips buzzing against yours slightly before he breaks the kiss to breathe a little. The flush on his face is a lot like the one from earlier, same with the haze in his eyes, but he’s so much more awake right now; the way he looks at you makes you want to melt.

Your hands are still on his horns. You rub into them with your thumbs and he chirrs again, and you can practically see the way it rattles in his throat. It should be bizarre but it just hits you right in the gut, knowing that you’re the one making him do that.

He looks down at your dick still in his hand, still hard; you feel like you’re going to die when he takes his hand away, your hips twitching up slightly to try and keep the contact between you two, but again he seems to have other ideas because he shuffles on his knees on the couch and puts his hands on your thighs. Your brain shuts off for a few seconds when you realize what he’s poised to do.

“Is this okay?” He asks. He sounds so unsure about what he’s doing that you’re tempted to call it off, especially with those massive teeth in the way, but you’re also a selfish bastard and you really, really want to know what his mouth feels like on your cock. He looks so eager for it that it’s a wonder you don’t fall apart at the sight, too; eager to _please_ , eager to _suck your cock._

What the Hell kind of a person would refuse a look like that, you think.

“Yeah,” You murmur, and then you choke on a “holy _shit_ ,” because his tongue is _hot_ and he just swiped the flat of it against the tip, licking up a bead of pre that had been sitting there just waiting for the opportunity apparently. The feeling makes you ache, the visual almost just as much, and then he _does it again_. It’s too little and too much at once, you accidentally squeeze his horns too hard and he hisses (you’re happy he didn’t bite again, that would be a disaster.)

“ _Breathe_ , Dave,” He hisses, one eye scrunched shut and the other close until you let up your grip.

“Sorry.” You’re blushing like a schoolgirl in a shitty hentai, but you’re careful to be more mindful of what you’re doing with your hands, rubbing the bases in that way you’ve figured out he likes so much, and in turn you’re rewarded with a slower, hotter lick up the underside of your cock. His tongue is driving you steadily crazy, you can feel the beat of your pulse driving hot between your legs every time his tongue slides up. When his lips press against the skin you shudder, your fingers don’t quite grip his horns right but you manage to rub the pads of them into the fuzz along the tips and the sound of his moaning buzzes against your dick and makes it all worth it. “Holy _shit,_ Karkat,”

You are _very_ unprepared for it when he glances up at you and carefully wraps his lips around the head. You moan, long and loud, your head tilted back and biting your lower lip so hard that you’re pretty sure the bite _he_ left started bleeding a little. When you look down again, he glances up at you, his cheeks slightly hollowed and his lips still wrapped around your cock, and the most astonishing part of it to you is the way it feels, hot and wet and _tight._

You’re entirely unsure how to react when he gives a little suck. You don’t know how to class the sound you make, either, but it encourages him to keep going, sucking and slurping and making you tremble as you rub his horns a little harder. He makes a lot of noise too, at least, and you can see his thighs rubbing together, his hands curling and uncurling on your legs; you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything this hot in your life.

“F-fuck, Karkat.” You babble as your hips twitch into his mouth, pushing maybe a centimeter more of your cock into the sucking heat of his mouth. You forget what you were about to say when he gets the message and takes you deeper. You can tell he’s being careful, but the threat of his teeth right above and below the sensitive flesh is something you can’t let go of. Somehow only makes you more aware of how good it feels, makes you writhe and in turn makes you squeeze his horns a little more. His hips wiggle a little and he moans something around your dick. You don’t think you can bring yourself to think of anything but the way he sucks you off.

Then he starts to _bob_ , on and off you, and there go the floodgates. You babble nonsense at him, moaning, sighing, your hands tensing on his horns and you notice every time because he sucks harder when you do. “You’re killing me, you’re going to suck my goddamn soul out of my dick; holy shit, Karkat, I don’t know if this is technique or natural talent but don’t stop, _don’t stop,”_

He mewls around you, grinds his tongue into the underside as if to say he has no intention of stopping, and you can’t help it, you start to fuck his mouth. He chokes around it a little, but he does something weird with his thumb; pins it against his palm and squeezes and you can feel his throat relax around you just a little. You don’t know where he learned that trick and you don’t care, you take it as the signal to keep going, twisting your fingers around his horns and rutting into his face. You can feel his nose against your pubes every time you push in, feel his breath puff against the wet skin of your cock every time you pull out; it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt in your life and you’re only fifteen, and the feeling builds and builds in the pit of your gut. You don’t know how to describe that feeling, twisting tighter and tighter with every suck and lick he gives you; you recognize what it _is_ , but your brain is so scrambled that you can’t warn Karkat no matter how much you want to.

You don’t want it to end. It doesn’t look like he does either, his hands gripping your hips so tight you’re sure to find fingertip bruises on them later. The thing is though, you make the mistake of looking down at him just as he looks up at you, and something about the hazy, needy look in his eyes as he’s got his lips sealed tight around your cock is what ends it. You choke on a warning and grip his hair viciously hard, not even on purpose; your body spasms and your hands just happen to lock up in his hair, pulling him forward, burying you in the wet heat of his lips.

You can’t think. You can hardly breathe. You’ve ascended to another plane of existence entirely and your soul has straight up departed your body, just like you said it would. You might have appreciated this if your brains weren’t scrambled like someone stuck a fork in your ear and stirred.

“ _Fuck.”_ You breathe.

Slowly, too slowly, you feel yourself sinking back into the realm of flesh and bone. You realize just how hard you’re gripping Karkat’s hair and let go all at once, already stumbling over your apologies, “Holy crap I did _not_ mean to mash your face into my crotch like that, I think I might’a yanked out some hair, shit, sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry oh my G-“

You’re a little surprised when he puts a hand over your mouth; you aren’t actually sure when he’d extracted himself from your slowly softening dick, but there’s a line of drool down his chin, tinted off-white. He licks it off and you stifle a whine.

“Firstly, _ow_. I’m pretty sure you’ve just loosened the entirety of my scalp from its tenuous hold on my spinelump, and I’m going to go bald until the next moult so mercifully replaces every keratin noodle you’ve viciously savaged in the throes of ecstasy.” You note a slight roughness to his voice; that he’s not as loud as usual, which you’re perversely thankful for because what if the girls hear what he’s saying? (And also it’s kind of sexy, the way he’s practically growling every word at you, and knowing just why he has to.) “Secondly, _stop apologizing_. Besides my aching scalp, which was kind of an expected side-effect, anyway, you don’t have to apologize. You’re also embarrassing yourself. Much as I like seeing you taken down a peg, it’s ruining the mood.”

He shifts in his seat, and you hear a faint squishing. You look down and notice he looks… wet.

“Um.”

“It’s genetic material.” He answers, a little too fast, but he seems to be right because the stuff seeping through looks more like blood than piss, which you’d rather not think about. Do trolls cum _blood?_ That sounds ridiculous, but trolls are ridiculous anyway.

“We should get you cleaned up.” You offer him a hand and, when he glances pointedly downwards, quickly pull your pants back up. Your godtier jammies do their work immediately, cleaning up whatever residue you’re left with, but Karkat’s clothes have no weird game magic to them so you help him to the bathroom before he can leave stains and somehow the silence doesn’t come off as awkward so much as oddly companionable. It’s like when you listen to music together, or watch movies, or draw, except he’s naked and it’s your turn to let your hands explore him, under the guise of swabbing away the horrifyingly red stains of his cum.

“You look like you killed someone.” You add, as you look at your stained fingers, and more importantly, at his alien junk. You’re not quite ready for a second go yet, but maybe, in the near future, if he’s okay with it, you’ll eat him out. You _really_ want to try eating him out, and finding out what sort of noises he’d make if you’re rubbing something a lot more sensitive than his head nipples.

“I think you died the most un-heroic death ever over there, so maybe I did. I didn’t know I was so good at sucking bulge.” He snipes back, rolling his eyes, and musses up your hair. You hand him a towel and kick his clothes under the shower spray, and while they soak the two of you kiss again, and you taste yourself on his lips. It’s gross, but it’s worth it.


End file.
